


The Colonized Confederation

by closetcellist



Series: Werewolf AU [1]
Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: M/M, Parasol Protectorate AU, Slurs, werewolf!Andrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist
Summary: A collection of vignettes exploring the lives of Dr. Jhandir and Andrew in the Parasol Protectorate universe.





	1. The Meeting

The trouble with not participating in the activities of the Hypocras Club when he’d had the chance was that Dr. Jhandir knew for a fact they’d figured out how much chloroform it took to put down a werewolf, and he had no real opportunities to test that out himself. Oh, he could have joined, but really, their devotion to the commonwealth and its “natural members” was reason enough to avoid them. Certainly they wouldn’t have turned him away—he had a stellar reputation and several published papers he knew had been of interest to them—but it was really a shame how much they loved their country.

The other problem with working alone was that even if he did learn decisively how much chloroform it took to put down a werewolf, he was well aware that on his own he had no hopes of getting the unconscious creature to his house. He’d contemplated requesting something mechanical and ingenious from his friend Mme. Lefoux, some sort of assistive-lifting device—like an exoskeleton perhaps—which he could quite honestly find enough uses for in his surgery, but she had been so chummy lately with Lady Maccon that he didn’t like to get her involved in anything she might regret.

The most unfortunate thing of all was that the third problem he usually faced—finding a werewolf who was not disgustingly well-connected thanks to a monarch overly generous with titles—had just nullified itself with the sudden appearance of an Irish loner, and here he was with no chloroform at all. This meant that really, everything else was just an excuse.

And Dr. Jhandir was not a man to let opportunity pass him by.

***

The man—if you chose to call him that—had introduced himself as Andrew O’Rourke and proven surprisingly open to drinks with a stranger once approached, an offer Dr. Jhandir had been half sure would fail. But it seemed this lone wolf was in want of a friend and the doctor had proved to be the first friendly face in town, an unusual occurrence certainly worth noting.

Because of the doctor’s ulterior motives and the werewolf’s apparent desire to remain reasonably inconspicuous, they ended up in a rather run down bar, lighting dark and dingy, and populated by others whose focus was equally intent on their own situations. The doctor smiled and said not to worry about the bill, as he was simply fascinated to meet a loner, given the far-too-recent disappearances, and one from so far away as Andrew obviously was.

“How did you manage to get here?” Dr. Jhandir asked, while he nursed his first drink (weak, disgusting) and Andrew downed his second. “Am I right in remembering your kind cannot make use of airships?”

“That’s right,” Andrew said, grimacing. “A damn shame too. I had to travel by boat and I’m none too fond of that either.”

“It must have been an important trip,” Dr. Jhandir said.

Andrew shrugged, deflecting. “Necessary,” he said. “But then I could ask the same—what’s a man like you doing here? That’s a farther trip than me.”

“Opportunities,” Dr. Jhandir said, thinking the entire time about this one. He did carry some tools and powders with him all the time—London could be a dangerous place, like anywhere else. You never knew exactly what you might need. Silver dust? How much of that would be too much? “They were simply better here.”

“That I could grant you,” Andrew said. “At the moment.”

“This must be different from what you’re used to,” Dr. Jhandir said, light, unobtrusive, small talk. There was some herb werewolves were allergic to that the kitchens might have. Would the reaction to that be strong enough, if he could remember what it was? And honestly, why did werewolves have to be such hulking, great things? Was there an actual connection to a successful transformation or was it simply that that was the type of man who wanted to be a wolf?

Andrew shrugged. “City’s bigger. People talk differently. But people around the world are more the same than not.”

“And where did you serve, if you don’t mind my asking?” Dr. Jhandir asked. He hit on the plan now—find a distraction, slip a tiny bit of _Lapis lunearis_ into Andrew’s drink, and offer to help him to his lodgings once the symptoms began. Thank goodness snuff was still popular—snuff boxes could be so versatile. “Military service is mandatory for your kind, isn’t it? I believe part of the Woolsey pack just returned from a stint in India.”

“Ah,” Andrew said, glancing to the side. It didn’t seem anyone was paying them any more attention than they deserved, but he leaned forward and lowered his voice anyways. “I didn’t. None of my pack—we’re all pledged to freeing our home. We wouldn’t spend a day in Her Majesty's armies.”

“Really?” Dr. Jhandir asked, his thought process freezing for a moment. “Your pack?”

“It’s a small one,” Andrew admitted. “Just my brother, me, O’Toole, and Kelly. Almost too small to call a pack, but you know, the turning’s hard.”

“So I’ve heard,” the doctor murmured. “But _really_ , what are you doing here, if you have a pack back in Ireland?”

“Liam sent me,” Andrew said, answering without answering again. “He would have come himself, wanted to, but we all thought an alpha showing up here might bring too much attention. That old Scot might think he was vying for his pack and all. And O’Toole and Kelly had their own things that needed doing.”

“Your…task here,” Dr. Jhandir said, reviewing and discarding his previous plan in the face of new evidence. “May I ask, and you needn’t tell me any details, whether it is a secret one? Because I must say, your presence is a bit…obvious. And the Woolsey pack has a deep involvement in the BUR, as I’m sure you know.”

Andrew rubbed the back of his neck, his expression revealing profound embarrassment. “As secret as can be managed,” he admitted. “I’m sure they’ll know I’m here soon enough. It’s hard to hide a werewolf from another werewolf, I know. But they don’t know about my pack.”

“How old are you?” Dr. Jhandir wondered aloud, before he caught himself. Physically he’d guess the man was around his own age, but that meant little under the circumstances, and Andrew’s alternating freeness of speech and obvious secrecy made his true guess swing wildly from new pup to established country wolf. “Forgive me. I’m sure that’s a rude question to ask one of your set.”

Andrew laughed. “Older than you,” he said, grinning again. “Maybe I haven’t been out of Ireland much but I’m not a young thing.”

“Of course not,” Dr. Jhandir said. “And you’ve spent your considerable years trying to break free of the crown.”

“Maybe not all of them,” Andrew said. “But most.” He looked defiantly proud of that, though he must have believed the doctor was at least marginally inclined to his side, or he’d not have revealed so much—certainly, it wasn’t the effects of their drinks.

“Good for you,” Dr. Jhandir said, quietly but with feeling. He hit upon a new plan then, which could prove just as revealing, and possibly more rewarding, in the end. “I’m proud enough to say I’ve dedicated quite a bit of my research towards the same cause, though, of course, for a different homeland.”

Andrew grinned then, much more openly than before. “ _Slainte_ ,” he said, raising his glass.

Dr. Jhandir smiled and raised his own. “ _Chakk dey_.”


	2. The Moon

“I knew the Woolsey pack split, but I didn’t realize it was a regular thing,” Dr. Jhandir commented.

“It’s not exactly regular,” Andrew admitted, absently swirling the whiskey in his glass. Andrew was quickly becoming a regular visitor, a rare thing for the doctor, and he’d begun to stock accordingly. “It’s better, being near your pack. You can’t stray too far.”

“Why not?” Dr. Jhandir asked. This was something he’d wondered for a long time, and information he could only get from a live werewolf. “I know there are…rules, as it were. Compulsions, perhaps, that your set inherit. Like the vampire queen’s inability to leave her home. But I can’t imagine how they manifest themselves.”

Andrew’s expression became complicated. “It’s…difficult to say.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Dr. Jhandir said, though he did. “If it isn’t something that’s discussed.”

“No, just—it’s difficult to describe,” Andrew said. “Not if you haven’t felt it yourself. I suppose, it’s like if you hold your breath too long; you can’t ignore what your body’s telling you to do. Just with different things, like the pack, or the moon.”

Dr. Jhandir hummed thoughtfully. It wasn’t a fully convincing description, but it was better than he’d hoped to learn. “Speaking of the moon,” he said slowly, taking advantage of the appearance of that celestial figure so naturally in their conversation. “Have you found a place to stay while it’s full?”

Andrew grimaced. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I’d rather not ask the pack here for help either, but it’s looking like I might have to with it coming so soon.”

“What if you stayed here,” Dr. Jhandir offered, offhandedly, as though he hadn’t been trying to find a way to make that particular suggestion for days.

“I’d hate to make a mess of your house,” Andrew said, looking skeptical. “I’ve got to be locked up somewhere. It’s not pretty.”

“I know that,” Dr. Jhandir said. “I have a very sturdy basement. And I have a friend who is extraordinarily gifted with metalwork. I’m sure she could create something that could contain you.” In fact, such a cage already existed, and had for years, installed when the doctor was much more optimistic about his ability to catch and contain werewolves on his own. It was currently storing valuables, but they could be relocated with ease.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Andrew said, looking surprised and a little uncomfortable.

“You haven’t,” Dr. Jhandir pointed out, feeling the opportunity trying to slip by him. “I’ve offered. It’s not as much trouble as you think.”

Andrew gave him a long look, but eventually nodded, slowly. “All right. If you’re offering.”

 

***

 

Andrew recoiled, reeling back when Dr. Jhandir opened the door to the basement, using the oddly small key he kept on a fine chain around his neck. “What’s wrong?” the doctor asked, his expression somewhere between cautious and worried.

“God it’s—it smells,” Andrew said, holding a hand over his nose. He looked embarrassed but pressed on, his discomfort clear. “I don’t know how to say it, but…your house, it smells like blood and—fear. It’s so thick here.”

“I have a surgery in my house,” Dr. Jhandir said, watching Andrew carefully. The moon would be rising any moment, and it was too late for Andrew to go anywhere else. It was fast approaching a dangerous situation, and the doctor was suddenly unsure about this plan. “I’m sure that’s where it’s coming from.”

“Down here?” Andrew asked.

“I conduct my research down here,” Dr. Jhandir said, the truth, in a way. “On cadavers, to better understand the human body.”

Andrew grimaced, gritting his teeth which were already elongating, and Dr. Jhandir took an unwilling step back. “Andrew, you really must step inside. Quickly. _Please_.”

 Andrew clenched his hand in a fist, slamming it against the wall, and Dr. Jhandir took another step back, unable to stop the flash of fear that crossed his face. But when Andrew stepped forward it was still on two feet, and down into the basement, quickly. He balked once more when he caught sight of some of the equipment clustered in one corner of the room, but the doctor had already explained it—medical training—and it was too late to go back. He simply focused on the cage built into the wall, thick steel bars and a complicated lock Dr. Jhandir undid with the same small key, ushering Andrew in and locking it after him quickly.

“I’m sorry it’s not…furnished,” Dr. Jhandir said, watching Andrew through the bars. “I wasn’t sure what you would need.”

“This is—fine,” Andrew said roughly. He let out a strained breath, and slammed his open hand against the bars, startling the doctor, testing their strength and focusing to resist the change for a few more seconds so he could strip out of his clothes. He passed them through the bars to Dr. Jhandir. “Don’t want them ruined,” he growled. “Might not want to watch.”

Dr. Jhandir nodded, though he didn’t look away for a moment as the transformation took Andrew. It was a truly fascinating sight, though he understood right away why some would find it uncomfortable to witness—human bodies were not meant to stretch and twist in such a way, and the sounds of bones (breaking? Reforming so quickly? Remarkable) and skin doing anything really would be difficult for the average person to hear without flinching.

The transformation itself did not last very long—for all the fuss and mess in the middle, it was over quite quickly, and the doctor wondered if that was true for all werewolves, or if there was some skill involved that made it so for Andrew. Soon, rather than a naked Irishman, the cage held a snarling wolf, its fur thick and tawny, with a clean white underbelly and muzzle, its eyes a muddier gray-green than in its human form.

Dr. Jhandir crouched, fascinated, trying to get a better look at the creature—which did look just like a wolf, though bigger perhaps, he wasn’t terribly familiar with what regular wolves were like—and regretted it immediately when the thing threw itself at the bars, growling and snapping at him. Dr. Jhandir fell back, scrambling a few feet away, though the bars held without even a tremor. He supposed this meant it was true that werewolves didn’t retain any of their mind during the full moon; that or Andrew had a much ruder sense of humor than he had supposed.

The wolf threw itself at the bars again, but the doctor was expecting it this time and only flinched a little at the noise. He left sight of the cage for a moment, to bring a chair over to pass the night in. He intended to make whatever observations he could about werewolves during the full moon while he had the opportunity.

After a few hours, the wolf stopped trying to break down the doors, and settled in to alternating between pacing around and glaring and snarling at the doctor as though that might have some effect. Dr. Jhandir would never admit that it did. He was fatigued by the time the sun began to rise, but he was awake enough to see the transformation from the wolf back into Andrew O’Rourke. The transformation as just as interesting in reverse, and apparently just as painful. Dr. Jhandir realized slightly late that he must be staring too much when Andrew turned to him, naked as the day he was born, and the doctor remembered his clothes.

“Did you stay the whole night?” Andrew asked, taking them and turning to dress.

“You don’t remember?” Dr. Jhandir asked curiously.

Andrew shook his head. “No, not really. Not during the full moon.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Jhandir murmured to himself before addressing Andrew again. “Yes, I did. I wanted to be sure it went…properly.”

Andrew laughed, buttoning up his shirt. “Aye? And if it hadn’t, you’d have done…what?”

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Jhandir said. “I suppose I would have thought of something.”

Andrew shrugged on his waistcoat, and turned fully back to Dr. Jhandir, resting his hands lightly on the bars. “Could you think your way to unlocking this?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Dr. Jhandir said, giving himself a little shake and pulling out the key. “My apologies. I don’t know how that slipped my mind.” He unlocked the gate, tucking away the key and tugging open the cage door, letting Andrew step out.

“Was a bit worried I’d scared you too much for a second there,” Andrew said, stepping quickly toward the stairs that lead up from the basement.

“Impossible,” Dr. Jhandir said. “Simply impossible.”


	3. The Party

Dr. Jhandir didn’t care overmuch for dinner parties, but they were a nice excuse to show off his latest habiliments and he really didn’t receive enough invitations to warrant or allow refusing the ones he did. This particular dinner was one he had been glad to be invited to—he had heard there would be several of the Woolsey pack in attendance, notably the newly returned Major Channing (of the Chesterfield Channings), of whom Dr. Jhandir had heard only little snippets, none of them good, in his opinion. It was an ideal chance to get to know his enemy first hand—public, catered, and arranged by someone else.

Some time into the gathering, Dr. Jhandir spotted the major in another conversational group a few feet away. He stood out as much as the others of his kind did, especially with hair that long, though his military bearing was immediately obvious. Dr. Jhandir made his excuses to his current conversation partner and made his way over, to introduce himself and get the Major’s measure.

“Excuse me, Major?” Dr. Jhandir began, making his interruption as politely as possible.

“Ah, get me another drink, would you?” Major Channing said, hardly sparing Dr. Jhandir a glance.

Dr. Jhandir froze for a moment, caught by surprise. “I’m afraid you mistake me, sir,” he said, his tone arctic in its chill.

Major Channing turned and looked the doctor up and down properly with a self-satisfied smile. “I really don’t think I did,” he said.

Dr. Jhandir clenched his jaw, looking up at the major with a glare. “I am a medical doctor,” he ground out. “And a guest at this dinner, the same as yourself.”

“I know I’ve been away from civilization for a few years,” the Major drawled, dropping the full weight of his condescendingly amused attention on the doctor. “But I didn’t think we were inviting wogs to places of worth now.”

Dr. Jhandir felt the heat in his face and he knew he’d lost control of his expression, unprepared for such a base attack in such a locale. “I demand an apology for that, sir.”

“You demand it, do you?” Major Channing asked, low and amused, shifting and squaring off. “I don’t think you know your place.”

“Major Channing, what a charming surprise,” Lord Akeldama said, appearing from nowhere at Dr. Jhandir’s side with a smile showing too many teeth, overwhelming the scene with his sudden presence. “I’m glad they let you out to play; we never get to see you. But then, you’re always _so_ busy running errands for Lord Maccon. Have you met my friend, Dr. Jhandir?” he asked, resting his hand lightly on the seething doctor’s shoulder.

“My lord,” Major Channing acknowledged, his eyebrow twitching as he visibly reigned himself in. “I’ve just now had the pleasure.”

“Isn’t he delightful?” Lord Akeldama asked, and regardless of which of the pair he was speaking to or about, the statement was laughable. When he spoke again it was clearly directed to Major Channing. “How are you finding the return to civilized life? Is it difficult after all that fighting? Roughhousing in the rough lands…”

“The world is a battle, my lord,” Major Channing said dryly. “But if you’ll excuse me…” Channing made his excuse and slipped away, clearly not interested in anything to do with the vampire.

“I didn’t need your help,” Dr. Jhandir said, frowning and stepping away from Lord Akeldama to regain some of his personal space as soon as Major Channing left.

“Unless you have _spectacularly_ hidden depths, you really did,” Lord Akeldama said. “Major Channy is awfully fond of dueling, as I’m _sure_ you know. And you don’t strike me as the pistols-at-dawn type for some reason. Well, pistols-at-dusk, as it were.”

Dr. Jhandir huffed, though it was hard to argue with the truth.

“Now, my delicious caramel tart,” Lord Akeldama said, smiling enough to show his fangs. “I believe that unasked for bout of gallantry deserves a reward.”

“Does it?” Dr. Jhandir asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I really do think it does, darling,” Lord Akeldama said. “Nothing impossible. Perhaps you could just tell me where on Earth you’re getting those delightfully patterned fabrics before anyone else?”

Dr. Jhandir smiled then, thinly. “Of course,” he said. “I get them from India.”

Lord Akeldama laughed. “Touché, doctor. Touché.”

 

***

 

“And you would not believe the _gall_ of that man,” Dr. Jhandir spat, pacing, agitated, in his parlor. He took a particularly vicious drag on his cigar, but it didn’t help. He wasn’t being a particularly good host at the moment, but he’d had time to stew and he was too incensed again to care. “That puffed-up _cur_.” The whiskey he’d poured out for Andrew was terribly expensive so surely that entitled him to an extended bout of justified complaining. “ _Really._ Do I _look_ like a servant?” He rounded on Andrew, the captive audience to his rant.

“No,” Andrew said, tipping his head to the side, just a bit. “Course you don’t.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Dr. Jhandir agreed, not at all defused. “And do you know what he called me? That kind of language, at a respectable dinner? _I’m_ not the one who doesn’t know their place. _Civilized society_ , indeed.”

Andrew let out a quiet whine, almost inaudible.

“He needs to learn some manners, like the rest of us,” Dr. Jhandir continued furiously, ignoring or not hearing the noise Andrew made. “Absolutely _ridiculous_.”

Andrew whined more loudly, and this time Dr. Jhandir looked at him.

“And what on earth can possibly be wrong with your collar that you need to keep tugging at it like that?” Dr. Jhandir asked, exasperated as he turned to Andrew again. “Do you have a rash?”

Andrew froze, his fingers hooked through his collar, neck bared for the doctor, looking shocked at himself as he realized what he had been doing. Then a look of something almost like horror passed over his face, and he stood suddenly enough to knock over his chair.

Dr. Jhandir stared at him. “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, astonished, all the anger dropping away in the face of Andrew’s obvious upset. “Are you feeling all right? I can stop complaining if it really bothers you that much.”

“No, it’s—I—I, I just need to go,” Andrew sputtered. “I’m sorry, I—” He turned and bolted from the room with no further explanation, leaving Dr. Jhandir alone and adrift in his parlor.

The doctor waited, wondering if Andrew would reappear, and possibly explain, but as a few minutes passed it became clear that was not going to happen. He sat with a sigh, rubbing his temple, wondering what werewolf more he’d trespassed on. Probably using dog-related slurs, that couldn’t have been appropriate. He resolved to ask Mme. Lefoux if she knew anything about pack etiquette the next time they got together, and finished his cigar in disgruntled silence.


	4. The Incidents

Two nights before the full moon found Andrew in a rather rowdy bar by the docks, trying to quell or burn off the extra energy this time of the month always blessed him with. He wanted to go for a run, but that was harder to do in the city than the Irish countryside, as people seemed to assume that if you were running in the city, you must have done something wrong.

He’d assumed the pub was out of the way enough to keep him out of any real trouble, but trouble seemed to find him regardless of where he went, and tonight it showed up in the form of Major Channing. A moment passed before the two werewolves noticed each other, and Andrew had done an admirable job of staying out of the Woolsey pack’s way since his arrival in London. But his luck had run out this night, drained by the energy of the moon.

“Watch yourself, pup,” Major Channing growled, as Andrew bumped into him on his way to the bar.

“Dunno what a puffed-up prig like you is doing here anyways,” Andrew said, rounding on Major Channing. The man was obviously wealthy—he didn’t bother to conceal the distain in his expression for the whole establishment—and obviously a werewolf, which meant this was a terrible idea. But it seemed to be happening anyways and Andrew had little inclination to resist it.

“I can go where I please,” Major Channing said, squaring off and attempting to loom, though he and Andrew were of a size with each other. “I’m not the one out of my territory, loner.”

“You don’t own London, that’s for damn sure,” Andrew said.

“Maybe someone should muzzle that mouth of yours,” Major Channing snapped, before lashing out with a fist.

Andrew grinned, letting the blow connect with his cheek, and gleefully spitting out a mouthful of blood before he launched himself at Major Channing, swinging at the other werewolf’s smug face, delighting in the shock the blow sent up his arm as it collided.

A ragged cheer went up around them as Major Channing staggered back a second, grinning in turn, his expression feral—Andrew wasn’t the only one who enjoyed fighting here. A group began to crowd them, encouraging them, cheering them on. Andrew bobbed and weaved as the Major pressed the offensive, and both managed only a few more hits, buoyed as they were by the shouts of the people around them.

The bartender sighed, already giving up as the two werewolves stopped trading blows to strip out of their clothes, both starting to transform before they were fully free of the garments. The two wolves leapt at each other, a flurry of white and tawny fur. Teeth snapping at each other, the wolves circled in a rapidly emptying bar, as most of the onlookers had never seen two werewolves fight before and were less than comfortable witnessing it in such close proximity now.

The two wolves did not hold back, fur and bodies flying, crashing into tables and furniture as the other patrons fled the premises. The bartender yelled after one of them to get the Bureau because he wasn’t prepared to deal with this.

Andrew and Channing were too well matched, something that was increasingly infuriating to the Major, prompting more reckless attacks and greater property damage. Professor Lyall was flustered and disappointed when he finally appeared a few minutes later. “Channing!” he barked. He didn’t recognize the other wolf, who didn’t respond to his voice, so he wasn’t one of theirs. Lyall quickly stripped down and shifted, throwing himself bodily between the two of them, breaking them apart and stopping another attack from the loner. Lyall growled and snapped at the tawny wolf until he backed down, showing his neck. The Major tried to leap at him again, but Lyall checked him, rounding on him too until he calmed and surrendered.

The three wolves shifted back, and the professor glared at Andrew. “Loner, you are unregistered.”

“Just passing through,” Andrew said, as the three of them quickly covered themselves.

“You need to report to the Bureau,” Lyall said, as the bartender reappeared.

“Get out, the lot of you,” the bartender said, frustrated, shooing them with his cleaning rag. “You can’t come in here, breaking all my things. It’s not decent.”

The werewolves were all unceremoniously tossed out of the bar in various states of undress, and left to sort themselves out. Lyall corralled Major Channing, promising the bartender the Woolsey pack would pay for the damages, and leaving Andrew be with a warning look over his shoulder.

Tomorrow, Andrew decided as he slunk back to his rooms, he’d go to the doctor’s. That should keep him out of trouble.

 

***

 

“I was actually surprised to be invited to this dinner,” Dr. Jhandir said. “I don’t know the hosts well.”

“Mm,” Andrew grunted, to show he was listening. He was certainly paying enough attention to the doctor, but the words weren’t really part of that.

“And I have a surgery booked next week, so you might want to miss a few days,” Dr. Jhandir continued. “I know last time the smell was a bit unsettling for you.”

“Mm,” Andrew said again.

“This conversation would be infinitely more interesting to the both of us if you offered actual words,” Dr. Jhandir pointed out. “I know that it’s the night before the full moon, but you did invite yourself over. I assumed that meant you wanted company, which generally requires talking.” Andrew didn’t respond this time, still staring intently at Dr. Jhandir’s face, his mouth really. Dr. Jhandir waited, raising his eyebrows. “Is there something on my face?”

Andrew moved then, pushing out of his chair, leaning forward, closing the distance between them in a startling second. Dr. Jhandir was not expecting the kiss, and Andrew had planned nothing, not even the movement to get there, so it was a mess—one of Andrew’s fangs nicked Dr. Jhandir’s lip, and the doctor did not respond, frozen in a moment of surprise.

Andrew drew back, coming back to himself for a moment as he realized what he’d just done, in a flush of immediate guilt and worry. Instincts or not, he didn’t think the doctor would accept that excuse, but he had to try. “Doc, I—I’m—I didn’t mean to—“

Dr. Jhandir touched his lip gingerly, looking at the blood on his fingers for a moment before he stood and slapped Andrew across the face, dealing infinitely more surprise than pain with the blow. “No biting,” he said roughly, before reaching out and grabbing Andrew’s collar, yanking him down for another kiss.

Their teeth clacked together, Andrew unprepared this time, but a moment, a small adjustment, and they fit together properly, Dr. Jhandir holding Andrew at a comfortable height for him with the grip on his collar. The kiss was driven by hunger on both sides. Andrew threaded his hands in Dr. Jhandir’s hair, mussing it beyond simple repair. He could taste the blood from the doctor’s cut and it really was too much.

Dr. Jhandir felt Andrew’s hands settle on his waist, felt the intention behind them and pulled back enough to growl, “If you pick me up, I will throw you out of my house.” Instead, Dr. Jhandir tugged and nudged Andrew over to his settee, pushing him back until he sat, before climbing into his lap.

Andrew settled beneath him, unresisting when the doctor took his chin in hand, directing him as they kissed again, tipping Andrew’s head to the side to bare his neck, giving Dr. Jhandir room to suck a very satisfying mark there. Andrew’s hands roamed, tugging at clothes and toying with buttons, all of which seemed entirely unnecessary in the moment.

“Wait. Wait, stop,” Dr. Jhandir said, pushing back suddenly, a hand on Andrew’s chest. “I can’t do this.”

“…what?” Andrew asked as he froze, looking forlorn and confused.

“I can’t do this now,” Dr. Jhandir repeated, shifting off Andrew’s lap and standing, trying to smooth down his hair. “I have a dinner, in…” he looked at his watch and sighed. “Less than an hour.”

“What?” Andrew asked again, barely following. Life was suddenly terribly unfair.

“And now I have to get ready. Again,” Dr. Jhandir continued, rebuttoning the buttons on his waistcoat Andrew had managed to undo. He looked up at Andrew, and let out a small sigh, indulging for a moment in the picture the disheveled werewolf made in his parlor. “If you’re still here when I get back, we’ll finish this,” he said. “If you come to your senses, I’ll see you tomorrow instead.”

Dr. Jhandir left the room, adjourning to his bedroom to put himself back together, abandoning Andrew in the parlor to try to reconnect with his brain.


	5. The Interloper

London had been entirely too quiet for Alexia Maccon over the last few weeks. It was really impossible that _nothing_ was going on, but her husband had assured her there was nothing “that needed her attention,” which was something else entirely. Conall might accuse her of looking for trouble, but he knew the woman he’d married, so it should not have come as a surprise when, after hearing about the new loner in town from Lyall after the apparently quite embarrassing incident with Major Channing that she was sorely sad she missed, she decided to make an investigation into the new werewolf-about-town in lieu of having something more interesting and urgent to do. She had been able to find out a little simply from making delicate and subtle inquiries, and had thought she’d just about got the measure of the man, and his daily schedule, when he suddenly disappeared.

Of course, no one had reported him missing, but for several days, the Irish werewolf failed to appear in his usual spots, and after all the fuss those months ago with the Hypocras Club, Alexia decided this must mean something similarly terrible had or was in the process of befalling him.

She had noted with interest that this loner paid frequent visits to a rather more upscale part of London than he’d taken rooms in, and she’d observed him paying a call to a particular doctor’s home several times. Some brisk surveillance revealed that yes, the good doctor’s door sported a knocker shaped like an octopus, so there really was only one conclusion she could safely jump to.

After Mr. O’Rourke once again failed to prove himself amongst the living, while Conall was safely asleep and unable to stop her, Alexia made her way to the doctor’s abode, armed with her trusty and ladylike parasol and slightly less trusty and ladylike pistol. She had met the doctor once or twice at one of the million or so dinners she had attended in her life, and had not found him especially charming; but neither had she found him rude, which meant her very simple plan to gain entrance into his home uninvited was likely to succeed, unless he already had guests or was busy with his practice.

She simply knocked on the door.

“Lady Maccon?” Dr. Jhandir asked, sounding as surprised as he looked when he opened it. “I’m very sorry, but I wasn’t expecting you.”

“That’s quite all right,” Alexia said, with her most winning smile, that she’d practiced in front of the mirror and on Conall many times. She stepped forward and the doctor moved back, unwilling to exist inside the sphere of personal space Alexia forcefully exuded, and she was suddenly inside his house. “I failed to send round a card.”

“I’m afraid I’m not seeing visitors at the moment,” Dr. Jhandir tried, still holding the door open in the hopes that she would just leave.

“Are you seeing a patient?” Alexia asked, pausing only long enough to catch the answer to that question.

“No, but—”

“Well, that’s all right then,” Alexia said, moving briskly into the doctor’s parlor and snooping terribly as he scrambled to catch up with the events that were happening to him.

“Lady Maccon, I really think that—”

“My husband is the head of the BUR, you know,” Alexia said, bowling over his (unfortunately reasonable) objections by simply not allowing them to occur.

“Yes, I’m well aware,” Dr. Jhandir said, his brow furrowing. “And I am not of the supernatural set, so I hardly see—”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the new werewolf,” Alexia observed. “Only now he’s gone missing. And you were a part of the Hypocras Club that was involved in that ghastly business last year. So you can see why the BUR might be interested in speaking to you.”

“I was never a part of that club,” Dr. Jhandir protested, baffled by the turn in conversation, though Alexia was certain she heard some worry in his voice. “I’m an OBO member in good standing, and nothing more. And I’m fairly certain that you are _not_ a member of the Bureau—”

“I assist my husband when I can,” Alexia said, which was more truth than lie. “But you admit that you know the werewolf in question.”

“Well, yes, Andrew and I have become quite good friends,” Dr. Jhandir said, somewhat reluctantly.

“And it doesn’t concern you that he’s gone missing?” Alexia asked, raising her eyebrows imperiously.

“No, it doesn’t,” Dr. Jhandir said, with a frustrated sigh. “Because he’s not missing. Now, please if you would just—”

“And how would you know that?” Alexia asked. “He hasn’t been seen in town in days.”

“I saw him last night,” Dr. Jhandir said. “Now, _really_ —”

“I doubt that very much,” Alexia said, quite certain of her own sources. There hadn’t been any comings or goings from the doctor’s house the night before, which she’d made sure she knew before barging in. “He certainly didn’t leave before sunrise.”

The doctor glared, which she thought a very guilty reaction. “I will refrain from asking how you might know that,” he said, irritation clear. “But I assure you, Andrew is perfectly fine. He is simply spending the day in my guest room. He lost track of time, and couldn’t leave before the sun came up. I’m sure you are well acquainted with that particular werewolf limitation.”

Alexia hummed. _More likely he’s spending time in a cell in your basement,_ she thought _, or buried in that enormous garden_. “It would be much more helpful if you could produce him,” she said.

“He is asleep, as I am certain you know, being that it is daylight hours,” the doctor said. “Now, I must _insist_ —”

“In a guest room, you said?” Alexia asked, before making an unexpected beeline for the stairs. She had no idea where the guest rooms were, but the likely layout of the house put them on the upper floor. She doubted very much that she’d find any werewolves in the rooms upstairs, regardless of what purpose they were set aside for, but she was determined to continue forward until she met a much more substantial roadblock than propriety. She did climb as quickly as she dared in her skirts though, hoping the doctor wasn’t an especially fast man.

“Lady Maccon!” he shouted after her, indignant.

“I’m sure it will only take a moment to prove your story true or false,” Alexia said, walking briskly to the first door she found. It was, in fact, a guest room, or at least an unused bedroom, but it was entirely empty of any guest, supernatural or otherwise.

“Do you have quite a lot of guest rooms?” Alexia asked, as she headed for the next door, just as the doctor crested the top of the stairs and went to slam the guest room door shut before darting after her.

“Lady Maccon, I have not invited you here, and you must cease this immediately,” Dr. Jhandir said, but before he could reach her, she opened the next door.

That room was obviously the master bedroom, and Alexia got a very clear look at the bed—upon which a very naked, very asleep Andrew was sprawled, snoring lightly—before the door was pulled from her hand and slammed closed by a furious Dr. Jhandir.

“Well. That paints a very different picture,” Alexia managed, flushing slightly. She was reminded thoroughly of Conall, and everything suspicious about the situation was suddenly easily explained.

“Get out of my house,” Dr. Jhandir said, his voice low and furious and his expression rather dangerous.

“It’s really impossible to shock me,” Alexia tried to reassure him. “My father was Italian—” She failed to move toward the stairs fast enough and Dr. Jhandir grabbed her tightly by the elbow, dragging her forward, through sheer momentum, she was sure. She stumbled a bit on the stairs. “This isn’t really necessary, I do believe you now,” she attempted, but Dr. Jhandir was too angry to respond, heading directly for the front door. He yanked the door open and propelled Alexia out of it, slamming it behind her without another word.

“I suppose that’s solved the mystery at least,” Alexia said to herself with an embarrassed sigh.


	6. The Present

“What do you think?” Dr. Jhandir asked, gesturing at the garden and looking up at Andrew expectantly, a small smile the only indication of the larger, prouder grin he managed to keep back.

Andrew looked over the garden, which was nice enough, he supposed, though he preferred larger open spaces when dealing with nature. It was possible it looked different since the last time he had seen it, but he would be hard pressed to say exactly how, and he hoped he wasn’t asked to point out anything specific. “It’s…nice?” he tried. “It has…a lot of flowers.” More flowers than he thought he usually saw open at night, though he had rarely paid attention to that kind of thing.

Dr. Jhandir nodded, taking Andrew’s arm and leading him over to a cluster of white daffodils, which were fully open in the moonlight. “Yes, day blooming flowers. I thought, it must have been a while since you’ve seen these flowers open…” Dr. Jhandir said, and Andrew was grateful that the doctor wasn’t looking at him in that moment, because he was certain his expression would have mortified them both, as he realized what the doctor had done and what that meant both about how he felt and how much he paid attention. It was a terribly sweet gesture, too sweet, really, unexpected from the man. But Andrew was certain he had never expressed the slightest interest in flowers of any sort, which made this present rather telling in its inappropriateness. Still it had to have taken a lot of effort…Andrew realized Dr. Jhandir had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m touched,” he tried, because he was, even if he did not care the slightest bit about the flowers themselves. Dr. Jhandir let the rest of his smile through and Andrew decided that had been the right answer. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, smiling wryly to himself when Dr. Jhandir turned back to the flowers, going off on another explanation about something or other to do with grafting and plant care that Andrew would have forgotten immediately even if he had been listening.

It _was_ a sweet gesture. But then Andrew heard Dr. Jhandir say something about hosting a garden party and he could only shake his head in fond exasperation, deciding then he should give Dr. Jhandir a similar present of his own.

***

Dr. Jhandir had gone to sleep around three in the morning, after Andrew had left his bed to spend the rest of the night up and about. He’d confessed that summer sometimes made him antsy, the shorter nights weighing on him with expectations of fitting more into less time, something he had not been doing well since he arrived in London.

But that night, or more accurately later that morning, Andrew reappeared, nudging open the bedroom door with his snout and waking the doctor as he jumped on the bed, padding over and settling down on top of him.

“Is this really necessary?” Dr. Jhandir grumbled sleepily. Andrew in either form was quite heavy, though it seemed more concentrated when he was a wolf. “You’re crushing me and I’m trying to sleep.”

Andrew made a happy, doglike sound in his throat before snuffling at and then licking the doctor’s face.

“This is unacceptable,” Dr. Jhandir complained, without much force. It was difficult to be anything like an alpha at this time of day, which he suspected Andrew might know. He thought it was highly likely he was being taken advantage of. Still, Andrew settled his head down on his paws on Dr. Jhandir’s chest, whining and looking up at him with big eyes. After a moment Dr. Jhandir sighed. “Fine,” he acquiesced grumpily. “If you really, _truly_ must.”

Andrew immediately licked him again, but slower, so he would know it was very intentional.

“Disgusting,” Dr. Jhandir posited, before a yawn overtook him. He managed to get an arm free and absently scratched behind Andrew’s ears. “It’s terribly unhygienic.” Andrew just managed to get away with licking Dr. Jhandir’s ear before the doctor pushed his face away. “No, absolutely not, that’s horrible.”

Andrew huffed, which might have been a laugh, settling back down on Dr. Jhandir’s chest, a solid, immovable, warm weight that pinned him very effectively. Dr. Jhandir let out a quiet sigh before he gave in, closing his eyes to go back to sleep, letting the cuddling happen, hoping Andrew would change back or move by the time he woke up so he wouldn’t be trapped for an entire day.


	7. The Date

“We are going out tonight,” Dr. Jhandir announced, before Andrew could settle in to the parlor and get too comfortable.

“Are we?” Andrew asked, intrigued. That was a new development. He’d been trying to get the Doc out of his house for some time now, to very little success.

“Yes, and soon, so come along, we’ve got to get you changed,” Dr. Jhandir continued.

“Do we?” Andrew asked, with markedly less enthusiasm. He was fairly certain that anywhere he’d really like to go, he could get in just fine as he was.

“Yes,” Dr. Jhandir insisted, taking Andrew’s arm and leading the way upstairs. “They won’t let you in like that. There’s a dress code.” Andrew hummed noncommittally, already forming a list of places in his mind that he suspected had a dress code and that he did not think would make a particularly good night, trying to decide which he would actually protest over.

Dr. Jhandir pushed open the door to his bedroom, revealing the familiar space, but now apparently playing host to someone’s small closet, the component parts of several suits spread out or hung up on display. Most looked similar to something the Doc would wear, Andrew noted with some dismay, but they were obviously too large for him, like his wardrobe had finally had a growth spurt.

“I thought I would give you some options,” Dr. Jhandir said, letting go of his arm and closing the door.

“Kind of you,” Andrew said, looking around room with a small sigh. He knew the Doc liked patterns, and that was fine, really. On him. But Andrew did not consider himself a pattern person, if he considered his clothes at all. “Is this really necessary?” he asked, looking at Dr. Jhandir beseechingly.

“ _Yes_ ,” Dr. Jhandir reiterated. “You’ll enjoy yourself. There’s drinks there. And wouldn’t you like a nice suit?”

Andrew thought he had little use for a nice suit, and littler desire to own one, but the door was already closed and the Doc had already made his plans, so there seemed no way out of it. “I suppose,” he capitulated. “But not anything too loud.”

“These aren’t loud,” Dr. Jhandir said, because he apparently did not know what ‘loud’ meant.

Andrew gave the Doc a fond look before he turned his attention back to the army of suit parts, surveying the damages more extensively. To the doctor’s credit, everything looked like it would look nice on _someone_ ; Andrew was simply certain that someone wasn’t him. After painstakingly looking through the collection for the least exuberant pieces, Andrew pulled together the plainest outfit he could, a suit of various warmly attractive browns. “This good enough?”

“If it’s here, that means it is acceptable,” Dr. Jhandir said, though he did look as though he wished Andrew had chosen something more interesting. “Change and we can head out.”

“Right,” Andrew said, remembering again there was a reason for this. “Where are we going?” he asked, as he stripped to change.

“It’s a surprise,” Dr. Jhandir said. “I think it’s more interesting that way. I promise it won’t be too painful for you; I do know you, Andrew.”

Andrew conceded that might be true, but the fact that he had to change his clothes was not the most compelling evidence. Dr. Jhandir ignored him and stepped over to tie his cravat for him. “Don’t touch it,” he warned as Andrew immediately reached up absentmindedly to fiddle with the cravat. “You’ll pull it all out of shape.”

Andrew gave him a look that indicated he felt he was being very patient and did not need ordering around.

Dr. Jhandir sighed. “You _will_ enjoy yourself. I promise.”

***

The gentleman’s club Dr. Jhandir took them to was not the most elite in London, but it was of a caliber frequented by a similar level of respected professional as himself. That is to say, it was full of lawyers and doctors and wealthy businessmen, but there was little chance of them running into someone like Major Channing or anyone whose name began with “Lord,” which was for the best for both of them.

As promised, the club did have excellent alcohol, and Andrew had decided to try as much as he could get away with ordering, since he was unlikely to get away with ordering enough to get drunk and cause any embarrassment. The club was…interesting. Andrew had not really relaxed since entering, sitting with a rather obvious stiffness in his chair as he looked around, watching the shifting pods of conversation in the large parlor-like room. Dr. Jhandir had told him there was also a games room, but they hadn’t yet ventured that far.

They talked quietly for a while, Dr. Jhandir occasionally pointing out people who might be of interest to Andrew for one reason or another, or whom he had a complaint about that was amusing enough to be shared in a way that wasn’t entirely petty. Eventually, they made their way to the dining room, and Andrew was pleased to discover they had a spread he could enjoy. They tried the games room, late in the evening, but the game of the night turned out to be Bridge, which was a nonstarter.

Sometime in the early morning, they called it a night. They headed for the door, but the way was still filled with conversational clusters. One man, whom Andrew thought he had spotted a few times earlier that night enjoying a game of cards with another group, broke away from an apparently very humorous conversation, almost bumping into him. “Oh, pardon me,” he said, politely, still smiling, though that smile froze and dropped away as soon as he saw Dr. Jhandir.

“It’s no bother,” Andrew said, glancing at the doctor as well.

“Dr. Suttler,” Dr. Jhandir said, his tone stiff for a moment. He seemed to remember Andrew was with him and smiled, not entirely pleasantly. “It has been a while. Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Andrew O’Rourke.”

Dr. Suttler looked Andrew over, his eyes jumping from the stiff set of the werewolf’s shoulders to the expertly tied cravat, and back over to Dr. Jhandir for a moment. “Ah,” he said, almost a sigh. For such a small word, it held a lot of things. He managed a smile that was polite and only the slightest bit rueful, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. O’Rourke.”

Andrew shook his hand and gave him a friendly smile, because whatever had obviously occurred between the two doctors, it hadn’t involved him. “And you, Dr. Suttler.”

“You’re alone tonight?” Dr. Jhandir asked, and Andrew just managed not to shake his head at how obvious he was being.

“I haven’t brought a guest if that’s what you’re asking,” Dr. Suttler said, managing not to be flustered. “But I’ve found plenty of enjoyable conversation tonight, as usual. I have enough friends to fill my time. I didn’t think you really cared for this club.”

“I pay my dues like everyone else,” Dr. Jhandir said. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t put in an appearance.”

Dr. Suttler sighed quietly, glancing away, seeking a polite escape. “I never said you shouldn’t.”

“We were on our way out,” Andrew cut in, mercifully, though mostly to spare himself. He cast around for other polite goodbyes. “I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

“And you,” Dr. Suttler said, gratefully. He glanced at Dr. Jhandir a final time. “Good luck,” he added quietly to Andrew, before he stepped away, bypassing his previous conversational group to put as much space between them as he politely could.

“So,” Andrew said, once he and Dr. Jhandir had stepped out of the club. “That ended badly, did it?”

“What?” Dr. Jhandir asked, looking up at Andrew, a bit startled. “I thought that all went very well.”

Andrew shook his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Jhandir hummed, remembering again how much of pack protocol was based on body-language. “Well, yes, if you’ve already figured it out. It didn’t end nicely. But that wasn’t my fault.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t,” Dr. Jhandir insisted again, with entirely too much force given that no one had accused him of anything. “We had a perfectly fine arrangement until he panicked about it.”

“Panicked?” Andrew asked, raising an eyebrow. That wasn’t exactly the word he’d been expecting.

“He asked me—” Dr. Jhandir cut himself off abruptly, before starting over, obviously changing how the sentence was going to end along with his volume. “He asked me to do something for him and then he was upset that I did it and he walked out. It was ridiculous. He’s a ridiculous man.”

“Right,” Andrew said, an acknowledgment only that the words had been spoken, not that they were correct. “What he asked you to do—”

“I’d rather not say,” Dr. Jhandir said, cutting him off and abruptly changing the course of the conversation. “How did you like the club?”

“It was a bit stuffy,” Andrew said, finally giving in and tugging at his cravat, loosening it and, as Dr. Jhandir had warned, ruining the knot. “But interesting. I think this means next time I get to pick where we go.” He grinned to himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you pick out the right clothes.”


	8. The Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after "Meet the Family" by DelusionsbyBonnie, in which the Ireland pack shows up and meets Dr. Jhandir in surprising (to them) circumstances.

“Absolutely not.”

Dr. Jhandir faced off with Liam O’Rourke in his parlor, his arms crossed and his expression set. Liam’s expression was more volatile, but neither man seemed likely to back down anytime soon.

“Then you don’t need to come along,” Liam ground out, for perhaps the third time that evening.

“Sure, but you know he does,” Kelly said, somewhere between placating and amused. The Irish pack’s beta had been doing a lot of heavy lifting lately with his conflict negotiation skills; Andrew, hovering nearby with a strained expression, had been taking a lot of the heat.

It had been a week since the pack had shown up, which was longer than they’d intended to stay in London, and Liam had been antsy since the second day. During a long and terribly awkward discussion after the initial unpleasantness, it had been decided that Dr. Jhandir would return with them all to Ireland. Andrew had been touched and pleased, in the moment, in addition to the myriad other, less pleasant feelings he’d had to deal with given the circumstances of his reunion with the pack, but now his only thought was how fervently he wished the doctor owned fewer things, or, and this would solve so many of his current problems, that he cared just a _little_ less about all of them.

Unfortunately, the doctor cared about his things a great deal, which was, along with the doctor’s insistence that he cancel all his upcoming social appointments properly, the reason for their still being in London a week later, and for Andrew’s current state. Over the last few days, they’d managed to get through most of Dr. Jhandir’s clothing, a battle the doctor had mostly won, and his plants, a battle he’d mostly lost, though he had managed to get his seeds into a small enough container to be acceptable to the pack’s final say. His books had been something of a stalemate—a good deal of them were medical texts, and even Liam could be convinced of their usefulness even given their bulk, but Kelly’s poking around had revealed a collection on the history and applications of various tortures, and the look on Andrew’s face when those were brought to light had left the beta reduced to helpless laughter for far too long and the fate of those particular books remained uncertain.

The topic up for debate at the moment was furniture, and the debate ran thusly: Liam, rightly in everyone’s opinion but Dr. Jhandir’s, believed they could not travel in any measure of secrecy with an entire household’s worth of furniture. Dr. Jhandir did not dispute this point, but did dispute the ability of a man to live in any kind of comfort without the appropriate furniture. Andrew’s blithe assertion that he could buy a chair when he got to Ireland had been ill received.

“Some of these are antiques,” Dr. Jhandir continued, gesturing broadly to his carefully, painstakingly purchased collection of chairs, settees, and end tables on display in his parlor. “They’re irreplaceable.”

“No one said you had to sell them,” Kelly tried as Liam continued to glower. “You just cannot take them along.”

“Then what, pray tell, do you expect—stop that _immediately_!” Dr. Jhandir directed this last to O’Toole, the wolf he still had not seen in human form, who in a fit of “helpfulness,” had begun to claw quite determinedly at one of the chairs in question, utterly shredding the upholstery. To the doctor’s credit, he’d gotten the tone correct, though that was mostly due to how furious he was, and O’Toole did stop, though without furniture to shred, he was left, in his wolfish mind, with only one other option, and that was to growl menacingly at the doctor whose home he was disrespecting. The doctor in question was currently too angry to be frightened, and it produced little effect but a pointed glare.

“Ah, now I see,” Kelly said, to himself, before nudging Andrew with a grin. “You don’t half have a type, do ya?”

“ _Kelly_ ,” Andrew groaned. “Leave it alone. Can’t you do something about this?”

“Have I not been trying?” Kelly asked, raising his eyebrows. “He’s yours; can’t you?”

Andrew sighed and put on a pleading expression that he felt he had been wearing far too often over this past week. “Doc, are you going to sell your house?”

“What?” Dr. Jhandir asked, startled out of his glare by the question that somehow hadn’t yet been asked or discussed in the past week. “I had not planned on it.”

“Then why don’t you just leave them where they sit now?” Dr. Jhandir opened his mouth to share what was likely the same protest he’d had to Andrew’s earlier suggestion, so Andrew barreled forward before he could voice it. “I promise there are nice, comfortable chairs in Ireland, even if they’re not as…fancy. And…” he floundered for a moment, but made a fairly well-educated guess, “you like decorating, don’t you? You can make a new collection.”

“Well…” Dr. Jhandir said, and that hesitation and consideration was good enough for Kelly.

“What a fine solution, Andrew!” Kelly said, clapping Andrew on the back and definitively ending any more discussion about furniture—it simply would not be heard past that point. “Now, about the rest of your things—“

“I don’t see why I should have to give up everything I own just because of a simple move,” Dr. Jhandir said peevishly.

“And still, no one has said any such thing,” Kelly said, with the patience of a saint. “Just that you have a large house and will be moving to a much smaller place.”

“I also don’t see why I can’t buy a large house in Ireland,” Dr. Jhandir said, mulishly. “Unless you mean to tell me there are only shacks there.”

Liam huffed indignantly. “This is your very worst choice, Andrew,” he said darkly, turning to his brother, who had the good grace to look embarrassed on behalf of Dr. Jhandir’s comments. “This is worse than Allana. This is worse,” he continued, with greater emphasis, “than _Niamh_.”

“Oh, say it’s not so,” Kelly said, laughing now as Andrew flushed, his ears a dark pink. “No one could be worse than Niamh. The doctor here hasn’t tried to boss _all_ of us yet. Just most of us.”

“Who,” Dr. Jhandir asked, feeling sorely tried and judged in his own home, “is Neeve?”

“Ah, no, now we’re getting distracted,” Kelly said. “We should be talking about, oh, what’s left? Your bric-a-brac maybe—”

“That’s not coming,” Liam said, glancing at the figurines on the mantelpiece near him with a frown.

“—or your kitchen, we haven’t been there yet,” Kelly soldiered on.

“We have plates in Ireland too,” Liam said flatly.

“I don’t need to bring my dishes,” Dr. Jhandir said, strategically, though it pained him to say even that, “But I am bringing my spices.”

“You can bring a few spices, sure,” Kelly said, sounding a shade relieved at how easily that had gone, though Andrew bit his lip and shook his head.

“ _All_ of them,” Dr. Jhandir said firmly.

“How many do you have?” Kelly asked, tipped off now from a glance at Andrew.

“Probably not enough,” Dr. Jhandir said. “You may have plates and chairs in Ireland but I doubt you have these spices.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Irish food as it is,” Liam said, his expression dangerous. It may have been a while since he’d actually been able to eat most of it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember the taste and he wouldn’t stand for it to be insulted.

Dr. Jhandir, who had not yet tried any, but who had heard quite a bit of it described, in admittedly rhapsodic tones, by Andrew, disagreed. “I prefer my own country’s food. And since I am the one here who actually eats more than just meat to survive, I believe my say is final on this matter.”

“And here’s the immovable object again,” Kelly muttered under his breath. “Ah, and there’s the unstoppable force,” he added to himself as Liam clearly geared up for a long and involved argument. “Liam, let him take his spices, hm? He’s already far from his home.”

“He looks at home enough here to me,” Liam said, thrown off his track only for a moment. Now Dr. Jhandir looked ready to protest and Kelly sighed.

“Doc, he doesn’t mean it that way,” Andrew jumped in, though his brother almost certainly had.

Dr. Jhandir and Liam were back to glaring at one another and Kelly sighed again. They were never going to make it out of this house.


End file.
